


Unwanted Instinct

by Qion



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Violence, Queerplatonic Relationships, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qion/pseuds/Qion
Summary: The Host likes to think that he's a stable person. He likes to think that he can move on from the past and into the present with much trouble. Unfortunately, his past has a much stronger hold on him then he ever wanted.(A.K.A. The Host has a moment where he freaks out and thinks he's the Author again and Dark has to come in and help him out.)





	Unwanted Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> oh hey the first thing i ever write on ao3 and its fucking sad.
> 
> go me
> 
> basically this is about how the host has a hard time transitioning from his past as the author (as you can see) and then this hellspawn was created. enjoy.
> 
> (also i barely edited this and i'm running off of 5 hours of sleep so there's gonna be mistakes)

The Host was content with the accommodations that Dark had provided him with. With an office of his own and a well-stocked supply of novels and paper, the Host couldn’t ask for anything more.

Except for an easier layout of the building to follow.

The number of times he stumbled into rooms without meaning to or ran into a variety of objects were too numerous to count and honestly, the Host was getting frustrated with himself. He had dealt with a lack of sight for so long that it felt a little disappointing that he couldn’t adapt to a new setting any better.

Walking down the hall, the Host was careful to narrate his own movements, allowing bits of the future to fall from his mouth as he moved down to his own office. He avoided any major obstacles that he could recall being a hinderance the last time around, but he was still paying close attention to what flashes he could see in order to guide his way.

“The Host picks up the pace in order to reach his office in a timely fashion,” he said quietly, keeping even footsteps along his path. “He remains free from any collusion until he runs into Google Blue.”

His pace faltered for a brief moment as he processed what he had just said when he ran right into another person. Stumbling back, the Host took a minute to re-orient himself before addressing the newcomer.

“The Host apologizes for stopping Google Blue from proceeding,” he said quickly, stepping out of the way in order to allow the robot to pass. However, he heard no trace of any retreating figure.

“That will not be neccecary.”

Instead, Blue held out something in his hands to the Host, explaining in his dull monotone.

“I have found an unmarked item in the storage facility. As of now, nobody has yet to claim ownership over this item.” A hand extended out to bring the object closer to the Host with a faint whirl of machinery. “Does this belong to you?”

Before he attempted to grab whatever Blue was offering, the Host felt the brief rush of sight fill his eyes as he caught an image of the present in his mind. The android remained stone-faced, emotionless with no faults as he held out something that the Host was easily able to recognize.

He didn’t know how it got there or why Blue had it, but the baseball bat in his hands was something that the Host knew was his own. No matter how much he despised it.

“The Host confirms that this is indeed his. However, he has no further need for it and would appreciate it if Google Blue were to dispose of it whenever possible,” he said through gritted teeth, keeping a good distance away from the bat in Blue’s possesion as he tried to keep up a face of politeness.

“That cannot be done. Any items in storage must be claimed first. Items to be disposed of must be done so by the owner,” Blue interupted, his resolve unmoving.

The Host could sense only a past that he didn’t wish to relive coming from that bat and while he would have loved to see it gone forever, Blue didn’t seem to be willing to allow that to happen. With a deep breath, the Host reached out and took the handle.

Without a thought, his fingers tightened around the rough cloth providing a grip and his arm leaped up to hold it in his hands with the tip resting on the ground in a smooth motion. As soon as he did so, the Host stiffened as the bat fell to the ground with a clatter.

The sound of approaching footsteps and a whirling soon proved that Blue was still present as he held the bat up once more.

“The Host thanks Google Blue,” he muttered, grasping the bat once more. “However, he will have to take his leave here. He sets off once more for his office.”

Blue remained still, observing the Host with curious eyes as his hands tightened and loosened around the bat. He could no longer process any other sense that he may have retained, losing himself in his mind as he wandered off.

The Host trusted that his narrations would be quick and accurate, but he found that he was wrong for once when he felt a hand roughly grab his shoulder and pull him back.

It was too fast for him. He didn’t understand what had happened, but by the time he managed to figure out that something was wrong, his arms had already pulled back and swung from shoulder to shoulder. Something was in the way of the arc and the Host heard a thud too heavy for a human body.

For a minute, the Host was frozen in place, his bat still high above him in a position prepared to swing back down without mercy on whoever had tried to attack him.

Like he would have done.

Like the Author would have done.

The Host threw the bat as far away from him as he could, ignoring off the way it struck against the floor as he backed up. His hands shook wildly as they curled themselves together in order to grab a weapon that was no longer there, blunt nails digging into his skin in order to find what wasn't in his hands. He would never dream of hurting someone with the full intent of keeping them down, but he knew that at some point, he must have been willing to do that and so much more. The first few steps were shaky as he tried to regain a clear head, but even he had to fall to the pure panic that welled up as he bolted down the hall for his office.

The Host ran back and the Author locked the door.

-

Time was not on Dark's side today.

Keeping the building of Egos Inc. hidden and safe was difficult enough, but it seemed as if all of a sudden, every damn person in the building wanted something that only Dark could retrieve.

Wilford and Bim both submitted multiple requests for recording equipment, claiming that their last interviewee had damaged the cameras with the excessive amount of blood they lost on set. All of the Googles each wanted a new software upgrade and additional room for the new additions while Dr. Iplier seemed to be persistent on his demands for a new examination table to be installed after Bing attempted to do a kickflip off of one and subsequently broke both the table and his skateboard. Soon, Dark found various sticky notes pasted onto his desk by Bing, all asking for a new skateboard.

Silver Shepherd wanted to order a different costume, Ed wanted a donation for his business and the Jims were barreling into his office every three hours to capture footage of "the demon Jim."

His neck ached from being hunched over his desk all day, his back lodging similar complaints as he straightened up for a moment. With a groan, he cracked his neck back into place and stopped to relish the brief moment of relief that came with it. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, rubbing his palms out with his thumbs to dig out whatever tensed muscles had clenched there.

For a moment, Dark could almost say that he was somewhat relaxed despite the outrageous amount of work he had to complete before the day ended.

And then Bing slammed the door open.

"Hey dude, the Doc needs you downstairs!" he called out, leaning against the doorframe as he attempted to catch his breath.

The sharp trill of Dark's aura shot back out as he turned around, staring down the android who now seemed incredibly uncomfortable. As if he didn't already have enough to do on his own.

"Bing, if you tried to pull off another trick with the Doctor's equipment, I wi-"

"Nah dude," Bing said sharply, cutting off the remainder of Dark's unfinished threat. "Googs is down for the count."

With that, Dark was up and out of his chair before Bing could add anything else, pushing past him to start a brisk pace down to Dr. Iplier.

All of the Googles were incredibly sturdy machines, most likely a result of their constant upgrading. They all controlled the security system that ran through the building, but anything that could take out even one of them was a threat on its own.

The sound of raised voices and arguing was what led Dark in the right direction, going down the stairs to see an odd sight.

Rallied in the hall was Dr. Iplier and the three other Googles, crouching beside a figure laying prone on the ground. As soon as Dark got close enough to see the details, he was able to make out Google Blue's trademark shirt from the floor. However, that was all he was able to recognize. The synthetic skin that made up Blue's face was ripped, revealing the dented metal that ran just beneath it. The sight of seeing anyone's face torn to such an extreme was worrying enough, but the fact that Blue was an android and somehow not human seemed to make it that much worse.

"What happened?" Dark demanded, stepping up behind the group.

Dr. Iplier was the first to respond, standing up as Google Red began to adjust the machinery exposed in Blue. "Blue got hit hard by what looks like a blunt object. It's repairable, but it'll need time to mend completely," he reported. He turned back to glance at Blue before lowering his voice.

"You know, if he was a human, I would say that the blow should have cracked his skull."

That was enough to push forward the point that whatever had gotten in was a danger to everybody inside.

"Do you know who got to him?" Dark shot back, crossing his arms as the miasma surrounding him stretched out into the hallway. At that, the Doctor went silent, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground between them.

"Well?" Dark snapped, the light above them harshly flickering from a plain yellow to a dull gray.

"We believe that the Host is responsible," Green added, glancing at Dark from the screen he had projected in front of him listing the steps to replace the parts in Blue.

His aura stopped moving, but briefly, Dark's shell cracked between a shocked blue and a disbelieving red. "You're certain about this?" he asked slowly, suspicion lacing every word he spoke. Green only nodded, shifting the screen to widen as the instructions for Blue's repair was replaced by an input made by the fallen android.

"The Host has claimed the weapon used to hit Blue moments before he was deactivated," Green reported, scanning through Blue's account for errors.

Dark still had a hard time believing that the Host would ever try to harm any of the other Egos on purpose. He was a peaceful man and as far as Dark was concerned, it was fairly easy to set someone else up for a crime. "And what weapon did he use?"

"That." Green pointed down the hall, just a little further from Blue's body where an abandoned baseball bat lay.

Dark was gone before Green could finish, tearing down the hallway in a near-run for the Host's office. Should it have been anything else, then Dark would have called for a security check, but this was the one thing that Dark knew would tear the Host apart.

If he still believed that he was the Host.

Before long, he was in front of the door that he had entered many times before. This time, instead of quiet narrations creeping out from behind the wood, Dark heard the sound of frantic mumbles covered by a sharp scratching that tore through whatever was being said. His hands flew to the doorknob, turning it wildly only to have it stubbornly resist it as the lock merely shook in place.

Dark knew what was happening and if he wanted to at least prevent the worst of it from affecting the Host, then he would have to hurry.

With an sharp breath, Dark turned back around and walked into his black aura, away from Egos Inc. and into his own lane of travel. The dull shade of nothingness slowly began to fade away to create new ridges and walls, forming itself into steep bookshelves and scattered papers as he stepped into the Host's office.

Sitting in the center of the room at his desk was the Host himself, bent over an empty paper with a pen in his hand. Scribbling away furiously, strangled sentences flew from the Host's lips as his hand seemed to fly off the page with what he was writing. Even from the distance between them, Dark could see how his arm shook with either exhaustion or fear as he wrote until the pen itself wobbled with his hand.

The closer Dark got to him, the clearer his words became and Dark was not at all comforted by what he heard.

"The Host-The Author-no, The Host must apologize for... for...no."

For a moment, the pen stopped moving and the room fell silent as Dark stopped. He was sure that the Host would turn around now and face him, but he didn't even seem to recognize his presence before he continued to write.

"The Host does not, does not harm others. The Host does not write. But the Author does. The Author must apologize-The Host must-The Author must."

Without warning, the pen in his hand was dropped and both of the Host's hands rushed up to hold his face. His elbows leaned onto the desk as his breaths constricted themselves to grow shorter and shorter. The uncertain narrations were silenced as his palms dug into his head with a new anger. He no longer seemed to care about what his physical body felt as he practically clawed at his face. Blood was seeping through the bandages wound around his head and trailed past his fingers in streaming lines as he let out a shivering moan before letting in a shakier exhale.

Swearing profusely, Dark sprang forward and grabbed the Host's wrists before he could push them any further into his missing eyes. "Host, get your hands off your face," he hissed, yanking his hands off to stop himself from inflicting any further damage.

The Host couldn't reply, only letting out the same jittery breaths as his finger writhed in Dark's grip for something that he couldn't name. "Host, listen to me," Dark growled, keeping an iron grip on the Host's hands. But instead of calming, The Host seemed to grow alive with a raging fire. He struggled to free himself, twisting his upped body violently away from Dark until his bandages nearly unraveled with all of the movement.

" _Host!_ "

Dark never raised his voice unless it was absolutely needed, but the Host was too far gone in his own head at the moment to listen to soft words. Shock was what put him in this state and shock was what would bring him out.

It seemed to have worked when the Host stopped, his hands still tense but unmoving. The Host was motionless for a moment before he finally went limp into Dark's arms. The hands that once fought to write now dug themselves into Dark's black suit jacket in a grip that was so tight that Dark was sure that the Host would feel them cramping soon. Stuttered attempts at narrating the present were left behind as the Host's anger and dread melted away into a mess of emotion until he could do no more than cry. The blood drenched his bandages to the point where red smears began to appear on the parts of the face where the coverings traveled to, but Dark could care less at the moment as he swiftly brought his own arms around the Host.

Behind him, Dark could make out whatever the Host had been working on and saw only one sentence written down. On the page in scribbled handwriting, Dark read multiple versions of that simple sentence until the ink began to overlap and create a blotted mess of liquid on the page that he couldn't decipher. Even the desk was subject to the Host's pain, the wooden surface carrying carvings of ink with the same sentence engraved onto the once even surface. The one thing that the Host couldn't remember would be the one thing that would become permanent in his office.

"The Host is not the Author."

The Host's voice was weak and flimsy, not much more than a gust of wind as he talked, but still he latched onto the one thought that he ran on since he had relapsed into the past.

"You're right," Dark said softly, his own voice not much stronger than the Host's. "You are not the Author."

The Host could say nothing else as he sobbed, unable to form any other words to tell Dark what had happened. But Dark didn't need to know. Instead, he talked quietly for the both of them, letting out gentle words that he never would have said for anyone else. The Host had done much for Dark in the past that the least that Dark could do now to repay him would be to allow him this moment of respite.

**Author's Note:**

> god i am so sorry for this mess
> 
> -Q


End file.
